Midnight Rain: A Dark Romance Thriller (Amour Toxique Book 3)

by Dori Lavelle

  “Ms. Hollifield, Marcus Jenkins again. I’ve been trying to reach you several times this week. I’m wondering if you’ve given our offer more thought. We’re very interested in your story. I’m talking book and movie deals here.”

  I groan as I return Marcus Jenkins’s call. The man doesn’t take no for an answer. The first and only time we talked when he cornered me on my doorstep, I’d made it clear I’m not interested in his publishing company’s offer. Still, he’s called several times a day since then. His calls always go unanswered. Until today.

  “Mr. Jenkins, Ivy Hollifield here. I listened to one of your messages.” I rest my forehead on the heel of my hand.

  “Ms. Hollifield. What a pleasant surprise. I was hoping you’d call back.”

  “Mr. Jenkins, I’m calling to let you know I haven’t changed my mind. Much as I appreciate your offer, it doesn’t appeal to me. I’m only interested in looking forward, not back. Now please stop calling me. My answer will stay the same. Goodbye.”

  Before he can come up with more way to persuade me, I end the call and head to my room for a nap.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Ivy, are you all right?” Dr. Stella Dickson rises from her chair and comes to place a well-manicured hand on my shoulder. “Would you like a glass of water?”

  I raise my gaze to hers and shake my head.

  Since playing a game of hide and seek with the truth is easier than facing it, I play. Her looks are a welcome distraction. I guess her to be in her fifties. Being my mother’s daughter, I spot the telltale signs which point to the fact that she has turned to Botox injections once or twice, but only to enhance her looks, not destroy. Her salt-and-pepper hair is in a braided bun on top of her head. Not a hair out of place. She’s striking, a polished and distinguished woman.

  “Did you hear what I said?” She returns to her chair but her turquoise gaze remains on my face.

  “I’m sorry.” I sigh. “What . . . What did you say?”

  She clasps her hands on the table and leans forward. “You’re pregnant, Ivy. It explains why you’ve been so exhausted and nauseous in the past two months.”

  I chuckle “No. No, that can’t be. It’s not possible.”

  “I’m afraid your blood results say otherwise.” She glances at the papers on her desk.

  I swallow hard and force air into my lungs. I can’t get enough. The more I try to breathe, the harder it gets. After all this time, after all the days of trying to forget Damien and Judson, and everything that happened in Mexico, this is what I get?

  I thought the past was behind me or at least I fooled myself into believing it. I’ve enrolled in an online interior design course, moved into a place of my own, done everything that proves I’ve moved on with my life. Only for the past to walk into my present and slap me across the face.

  Clenching my fists, I think back to the times Damien and I had sex, we used a condom every time before Judson showed up. Then he forced us to have sex in front of him, gave us no choice in the matter. Now here I am about to have a souvenir from the past.

  A souvenir I’m not sure I want.

  I wipe a sheen of sweat from my forehead only for sweat to pop up in its place. “I’m sorry.” I grip the sides of my chair. “I . . . have to go. Thank you for your time.” I stand up in a daze and sway to the door. It’s only when my hand touches the doorknob, that I realize I forgot my purse. I return blindly to my chair and lift it.

  “Ivy, I’m so sorry this is not the news you wanted to hear. If you do decide to keep the baby, please call for an appointment so we can discuss your choices for prenatal care.”

  I nod and barge out of her office, the word baby repeating over and over inside my head.

  A few seconds later, I’m standing out on the street, a mild breeze sweeping back my hair. I remain on the sidewalk for quite some time, oblivious to the pedestrians walking around me, the blurred faces studying my face suspiciously, wondering what’s wrong with me.

  Baby. Baby. Baby.

  As the four letter word spins round and round inside my head, my world tips. I move to the nearest lamppost and lean against it for a second before sliding down to the ground. Someone asks if I’m okay. I wave them off because I can’t give them an answer.

  “Okay” is a feeling that’s foreign to me, one that keeps moving out of my reach each time I get close to grasping it.

  Sometimes it’s something simple, a dream, a random thought, a stranger on the street that reminds me of Damien or his brother. And my day plunges into the whole of darkness.

  Finally I am able to stand again without fainting. Instead of taking a taxi, I disappear into a nearby restaurant and order a glass of water.

  After fifteen minutes of staring into my full glass of water, I blink. A tear drops onto the clear surface, breaking the calm. I watch the ripples while listening to the murmur of voices around me. Keeping this news to myself is killing me. I need to talk to someone.

  I push the water away and root inside my bag for my phone. I dial Mom’s number first but she doesn’t answer. The only other person I feel comfortable confiding in is Chelsea.

  Since returning from Mexico, I had seen Chelsea once when she traveled to Boston to see for herself that I really am alive and well. At seeing me in the flesh, she had wept for the friend she thought she had lost, her tears a mixture of happiness and pain as she apologized for not being there for me, for not protecting me.

  I’ve come to realize that some things just happen and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop the inevitable. You plan your life a certain way, do the right things for you. And then, when you least expect it, the carpet is swept from under your feet and you’re sent flying and crashing so hard your plans shatter and you’re left with nothing but the pieces.

  Chelsea picks up on the second ring. Before she says anything, I break my news to her. Heavy silence thickens between us when I tell her about the only time I had unprotected sex.

  “I don’t know what to do.” I take a gulp of water and rest my head on my arms.

  “Shit,” she finally breathes. “Wow. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Yeah, it’s a shock for me too. I feel as though somebody hit me over the head with a hammer.”

  “And you’re certain it’s Damien’s? Can a paternity test even determine who the father is? The process could be different when twins are involved.”

  “Of course it’s Damien’s. He’s the only man I’ve slept with . . . without protection.” I bury my hands into my hair, trying not to think of having sex with Judson, of the known fact that condoms are not one hundred percent effective. “Look, Chelsea, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t lash out at you. This isn’t your fault. I just don’t . . . I’m so confused right now.” I rub tension from my brow as I answer her question. “A paternity test would be able to tell who the father is because Damien and Judson were fraternal twins, not identical. I think I’d need to get hold of posthumous DNA samples.”

  “Damn. This is one hell of a surprise. I don’t know whether to congratulate you or to say I’m sorry.” She pauses for a moment. “Have you thought about whether you want to keep the baby?”

  “I haven’t even digested the news yet.” I take another drink of water. This time I allow the liquid to linger longer inside my mouth, cooling my tongue, before swallowing. “Chelsea, what if the baby is evil?”

  “I think that’s highly unlikely. That baby you’re carrying is yours. It has your genes and you’re an amazing person.”

  “But what if Damien’s genes are dominant?”

  “I think Damien wasn’t all evil. Otherwise he wouldn’t have wanted to make things right in the end.”

  “He and Judson shared the same blood. Which two people can be closer than twins? And what if my baby takes after Judson?”

  “I don’t think it would.” Chelsea exhales. “If you choose to bring that baby into the world, you will raise him or her to be a wonderful human being. Upbringing also has a lot to do with how a child tu
rns out. And if Judson and Damien weren’t raised by the stepfather from hell, they might have turned out completely different.”

  I place a hand on my flat stomach. “To tell you the truth, I don’t want this baby. But I don’t know if I’m strong enough to abort it.”

  “I guess you only have to ask yourself one question. What will hurt more—keeping it or letting it go?”

  I close my eyes and grip the phone tighter. “That’s a tough question.” At this point both options make my stomach twist with agony.

  “I wish I could take some of your pain away.”

  “I know.” I bite my lip to stop it from trembling. “I’ll let you know what I decide.”

  “Call me anytime you need to talk, day or night. You don’t have to make it through this alone. And if you want me to come over to see you, just say the word.”

  A tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away. “Thanks, Chelsea.”

  “Stop thanking me.” She goes silent. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Yeah.” From the slight hesitation in her voice, I sense her question will be an uncomfortable one to answer.

  “If Damien hadn’t died, do you think you would have given him a chance? You did say he wanted to make amends.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. Probably not.” If he had let me go that day and Judson had not shown up, I probably wouldn’t have called the cops on him, but too much had happened between us, enough to taint any chance of a relationship. “I don’t allow myself to dwell on it.”

  “You know what I think? I think if you decide to have this baby, you might be surprised to find it has the best parts of Damien, the qualities you felt drawn to, not repulsed by.” She pauses. “Look, I have to go to lectures. I’ll call you again tonight? Hang in there.”

  “Sure. We’ll talk soon.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  SEVEN MONTHS LATER

  Rosebud.

  Damien’s name for me, the word which had sickened me each time he’d said it.

  This time I turn the word over in my mind while gazing with awe into my baby daughter’s little face. I no longer associate the word with pain and darkness. The unopened beauty of a pink rose—that’s her lips—awakens in me feelings of love and hope.

  The nine months of pregnancy had been a roller-coaster as I wrestled with the fear of keeping the baby and the guilt of aborting her or giving her up for adoption. After months of being trailed by the ominous cloud of depression, I made the decision to give her to someone who will love her without associating bad memories with her. I’d found a family, signed the papers, and gone through with the pregnancy.

  When Mom heard of my decision, she and I had a huge argument that lasted a month. She offered to raise the baby, but I pointed out that it meant the baby would still be in my life. Finally she gave up trying to change my mind.

  My daughter was born last night at the break of dawn. Before her new parents took her away, I asked for a moment with her, to say goodbye to the little person who’d been a part of me for nine months, to feel her warm body in my arms for the first and last time. The moment her big, hazel eyes met mine, the walls around my heart crumbled.

  When Jane and Patrick Smith came back into the room to take her, I broke their hearts. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I apologized and told them that just because she left my body doesn’t make her less a part of me. Even if she’s not in my life, she will remain in my world. She’ll live under the same sun, moon, and stars. Giving her away will not mean she’s gone. My body will remember her heartbeat, my heart will forever hold a place for her. I’ll hurt more with her out of my life than in it.

  Last night I slept better than I have in months and woke up with that light feeling one gets when something good is about to happen. She’s my something good, the miracle I never saw coming.

  I’m standing by the window, gazing out into the night, finally alone for the first time today after my visitors have left. My overjoyed mother left an hour ago, leaving me alone with baby Reese Hollifield, named after my paternal grandmother.

  “You are the most gorgeous baby.” I press a kiss on her forehead. “Forgive me for what I almost did.”

  I sway from side to side, pulling her body close to mine. She belongs in my arms, in every fiber of my life. Something about Reese brings me peace, the kind I’ve been searching for since leaving Mexico. I could laugh at the irony of life. Funny how Damien’s child, the constant, ever-present reminder of him and Judson is the one that returns to me the peace and joy that had been stolen from me that fateful day in Oaklow.

  As I lay Reese back in her crib, she stirs but doesn’t wake. Her sleeping face suddenly reminds me of another baby from the past. Tim, the baby Damien had brought into my life for a short while, the little boy who had given me a slice of comfort when I needed it most. I wonder how he’s doing, whether he finally has the life he deserves, whether he is happy with his adoptive parents.

  I recall the shock that had hit me when Damien asked me to look after him, my confusion at trying to understand how Damien could be a monster and still offer to help an abandoned baby.

  I switch off all lights except the lamp above my hospital bed. Still sore from the birth, I wince as I lie down, turning to face Reese’s crib, unable to believe how something so precious could come from such a dark place.

  The fog of sleep is still thick on my brain, but the urge to wake and check up on Reese is strong. Call it mother instinct. I’ve only fed and changed her an hour ago, but something tells me she needs me. I squeeze my eyes first, and open them, the insides of my eyelids grainy against the eyeballs. Before falling asleep, I’d switched off the light above my bed.

  The room is illuminated by the moonlight entering from the window and the sliver of light sneaking in from the corridor through the slit under the door. More than enough light for me to make out a person sitting on the other side of Reese’s crib. But the light is enough to enable me to see the person’s shadow, but not enough to make out the face.

  As I sit up in bed, at first I think it might be my mother, but visiting hours have been over for hours. A quick glance at my phone tells me it’s after midnight and the night nurses are strict on no visitors after hours, certainly not this late.

  I flick on the light above the bed with the small remote control next to me.

  My eyes meet those of the intruder. I blanch and bite back a scream, my hands covering my mouth.

  His hair is longer, brushing the tips of his shoulders, and his facial features are slightly sharper from a bit of weight loss. But it’s him.

  The man sitting in the wooden chair, holding my baby, is none other than Damien Steel. It can only be him since Judson had died in front of my eyes.

  “How—what the . . .?” The whispered words passing through my throat feel like broken glass.

  A corner of his mouth curls into a smile so faint it’s almost invisible, but I see it. He glances at Reese, and back up at me. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask for your permission to hold her. I didn’t want to wake you. You need your sleep.”

  Fear claws at my spine. I don’t believe in ghosts, but the moment I saw his face, I thought he has to be one. There’s no other explanation for his presence. But ghosts don’t talk, do they?

  What the hell is going on?

  No. This can’t be happening. I don’t see Damien. I can’t. He’s dead. “You can’t be—” I stutter. “You’re not real.” Even as I say the words I know he is. A ghost would also not be able to hold a baby.

  “Put the baby down.” I’m unable to stop my lips from trembling. What I want most to do is fling back the covers and jump out of bed, to snatch Reese from him. But I can only think it as my body is unable to move.

  “You’re not real. You’re not here.” I wet my lips as tears press the back of my eyes. I hate not being able to go and protect my child from something I don’t even understand. “You’re dead. He shot you. I saw . . . I heard.”

  “You’re right, he did. He shot me
right here.” He lays a hand on his abdomen, a storm brewing in his eyes. “But he missed some vital organs. It was a bit touch and go, but I survived. And I heard you killed him.” Pain distorts his face for a moment. “I should have been there to protect you. I don’t know what I would have done if he killed you instead. I never thought we would both make it out of Mexico alive.”

  “But,” I shake my head. Unanswered questions bounce around inside my skull. “How did you escape?”

  “I played dead, so he set the house on fire and went after you and Adrian instead. He had to keep you from going to the cops. I made it out through the tunnel. Good thing Adrian disobeyed my order of locking it.”

  “It’s impossible.” I shiver as my mind returns to Mexico. “The cops said there was a body.”

  “It wasn’t mine.” Damien runs a hand over Reese’s red curls and the base of my spine cools. “Remember when the doorbell rang, shortly before you fainted?”

  I blink in response.

  “My guess is the person who rang it ended up being one of Judson’s victims. Perhaps it was someone who heard shots and came to investigate. I’m sorry, Ivy, for everything I did to you. For everything he did to you. I’ll never forgive myself.” He kisses Reese on the top of the head. “I can’t believe something good came out of such a mess.” He glances up. “She’s beautiful. Like you.”

  Still not convinced Damien is real, I bring my hands together in a prayer pose. “Please—put my baby down.”

  “Our baby.” He touches Reese’s cheek with the tip of his finger. Reese stirs but continues sleeping. “She’s a miracle.” When he looks back at me, his eyes are bright with tears. “Please, let me hold her for a few more seconds, then you can do anything. I’m not naïve enough to believe you’ve forgiven me for everything I did to you. I wanted to see you and her, then you’ll never see me again. If that’s what you want.”

  Adrenaline rushes through my body and I slide out of the bed, pushing past my fear of ghosts. I move cautiously toward Damien, afraid that out of desperation he might do something to Reese. He surprises me by not putting up a fight, instead placing the sleeping baby in my arms.